


Yes

by tinzelda



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-War, Road Trip!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 00:38:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4766996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinzelda/pseuds/tinzelda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve’s a patriotic kind of guy, so Bucky doesn’t have to work too hard to convince him to take a road trip after President Roosevelt proclaims 1940 to be “Travel America Year.” Though really, Bucky doesn’t have to work too hard to convince Steve to do just about anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yes

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to theemdash for giving me some cheerleading and concrit when reading this for the Get Your Words Out rough draft challenge. Thanks also to pharis, who helped me plan the boys’ itinerary and gave me ideas to make the story better on a second draft read. Thanks finally to Jo (jmathieson) for finding my mistakes and missteps in a beta read! Whew, it takes a village, huh?

“Steve.”

Steve opened his eyes a sliver. The sunlight coming in around the curtains was weak and watery. He groaned and closed his eyes again. What time was it? And why on earth would Bucky wake him up this early? Steve had lost his job after being out sick for too long with a nasty flu that had turned into pneumonia, so he should have been able to sleep late.

“Steee-eeeve.” Bucky said it in an annoying sing-song voice. He put his hand in the middle of Steve’s chest and gave him a shake. “C’mon, up and at ‘em.”

Steve rolled onto his side away from Bucky, pulling the covers up to his ears, and Bucky laughed softly. Steve loved that sound. It was worth being awake at such an ungodly hour just to hear it. When he forced his eyes open and turned his head, he saw Bucky looking down at him fondly. Steve smiled back—he couldn’t stop himself, even when he was tired and grumpy.

Bucky’s hand came up and ruffled Steve’s hair. He was bending over Steve, so close. All Steve would have to do was prop himself up on one elbow, tilt up his chin, and their lips would meet.

He really shouldn’t have been thinking about that.

Steve tried to pull the covers over his head. “I’ve got nowhere to be, Buck, so why don’t you just leave me alone?”

“Nowhere to be?” Bucky’s hand patted Steve’s head, as if he were an obedient spaniel, and then lifted away. “That’s what you think, pal.”

Curious, Steve rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Bucky was standing in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips. Even in the dim light, Steve could see his wide grin.

“We’re going on a vacation.”

Steve was still for a second, sure that he must have heard Bucky wrong, then squinted at him. “What are you talking about?”

He tilted his head to one side. “We-e-e-e-ell, I might have fibbed a little. Told my boss that my poor, dear mother was doing poorly, back home in Ohio.” Bucky put on an sad, innocent expression. “It might be my last chance to see her, you know. I’ll come back as soon as—” He broke off and sniffed loudly. “As soon as she’s gone.”

Steve grabbed his pillow and tossed it at Bucky’s head. “And he bought that?”

Bucky gave a devilish grin that made Steve’s heart go a little faster for a few beats. “Cronin’s kind of an idiot. So come on,” Bucky said, yanking the covers off Steve’s legs. “Let’s get going.”

“To Ohio?”

Bucky laughed. “No, come on, that’s just a story. We can go anywhere we want.”

“We can’t go now. I would have to pack. We would have to—”

“Your suitcase is ready to go.”

“What?”

“I packed for you already. It’s in the kitchen. Come on, buddy, let’s go!”

“Bucky, I don’t know.”

“Steve, seriously, we _have_ to go. The president said so. It’s our patriotic duty to travel America.”

Steve knew he should say no. He should be sensible: stay here and find a new job. Not to mention how much trouble they’d be in if Bucky’s lie got him fired. But Steve could never say no to Bucky.

As Steve pulled himself upright, Bucky’s smile grew broader. “So we’re going?”

“Yes,” Steve said. Again, he had to fight a smile. “We’re going.”

Raising both arms above his head in triumph, Bucky opened his mouth but seemed to remember the early hour just in time. Instead of shouting, he pumped his fists in the air and whispered, “ _Whoo-hoo!_ ”

Steve rolled his eyes, then crossed the room to the closet to get dressed. There was only one shirt and one pair of pants left. Bucky must have packed the rest. “When did you do all this?”

“Yesterday,” Bucky said. “After I talked to Cronin, I skipped out of there before he could change his mind.”

“But you got home after I did.”

“Yeah, I had to go back out to pick up the car.”

“Car?”

“Will you hurry up already? I want to catch the first ferry to Staten Island.”

Once Steve was dressed, he followed Bucky down the block until he stopped in front of dusty, dark green Pontiac sedan and turned to beam at Steve. “What do you think?”

“What a hunk of junk,” Steve said. “How old is this thing?”

“I know it doesn’t look like much, but it’ll get us where we want to go. I got it all tuned up, replaced a headlight, and put new tires on it. Even got new seat covers. It needed a new clutch too, but now the engine is in great shape.”

“Where’d you get the money for this?”

Bucky shrugged. “The car was cheap. And I did most of the work myself.”

He’d been staying out late a lot in the past couple of weeks. Steve had been afraid there was some new girl taking up his time, but maybe he’d just been working on the car.

Almost as soon as they pulled away from the curb, Steve realized that Bucky must have used his college fund. He’d been saving ever since their freshman year of high school, but he never accumulated all that much. While they were still in school, it was because most of the money he earned went to help out his folks. Since graduation, when they’d moved into place of their own, it was mostly Steve’s fault that Bucky couldn’t get ahead—whenever Steve got sick and couldn’t pay his half of the rent, Bucky dipped into his savings to bail him out.

Steve wanted to ask about it, but when he looked over at Bucky, he turned his head and grinned. He was in too good a mood for Steve to bring up a subject that would undoubtedly annoy him—it always bothered him when Steve tried to shrug off his help—so Steve just filed it away to talk about later. Instead, he asked, “Did you tell your parents that we were leaving?”

“Who do you think helped me fix up the car?”

“Your dad helped you? Didn’t they try to talk you out of it?”

Bucky laughed and shook his head. “I think they’ve given up on me.”

It was still early when they arrived at the ferry landing. Seven people walked off, and a lone farm truck scooted up the ramp with a rumble, but Steve and Bucky were the only people waiting to get on. Bucky steered onto the ferry and parked, then got out of the car to wait, bouncing impatiently on the balls of his feet.

Although the ferry didn’t move for another twenty minutes, only a few other passengers boarded. The last was an old woman with a basket over her arm, walking slowly and carefully onto the deck. She chose a place by a window in the enclosed seating area. Steve’s fingers itched to draw her: her lined face, the way wisps of her hair escaped from the scarf tied over her head. But in the rush of leaving, he’d forgotten to grab his sketchbook, and he couldn’t expect Bucky to have thought of something like that.

As the engines rumbled to life, Bucky led the way to the railing at the stern. Steve watched Brooklyn growing smaller behind them, but Bucky was looking to the side, out towards the Atlantic. The breeze coming off the water was chilly, so Steve pressed a little closer to Bucky’s warmth, letting him block some of the wind. Bucky was so used to Steve being cold that he didn’t pay any attention. Steve was glad, because it meant that when the sky lightened and the air grew warmer, Steve didn’t have to move away—Bucky didn’t seem to notice that either. But out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Bucky watching him.

It was turning out to be a beautiful day. The sunshine reflected off the water, a little too bright, but Steve didn’t look away. It seemed like the air itself was sparkling. He knew he missed out on a lot of the details of the world—some colors and little things in the shadows his weak eyes couldn’t penetrate. It made him appreciate the beauty of light all the more.

Steve glanced at Bucky in time to see him turn away. He was definitely staring.

“What?” Steve asked.

“What do you mean ‘what’?”

“You keep looking at me.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

Bucky didn’t say anything else. He turned his gaze back to the water.

Steve studied him for moment. “Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“Why were you looking at me?” “I was just wondering what you were thinking about.”

“I wasn’t really thinking about anything.” Steve had been idly enjoying the play of light on the water. If he’d also been relishing the idea of having Bucky all to himself for the next couple of weeks, he wasn’t going to mention that part.

“Good,” Bucky said.

“That’s good?”

Bucky turned his head and flashed a grin. “Yeah.”

“Why is that good?”

“You think too much.”

“What does that meant?”

“For the last few weeks you’ve been walking around with those lines you get between your eyebrows when you frown.”

In a flash, Steve realized what was going on: Bucky had done all of this—planned the trip, fixed up the car, and likely emptied his savings—just to cheer him up.

Bucky stole another glance in Steve’s direction. “Damn it, the lines are back.” He turned and wrapped an arm around Steve’s shoulders, giving him a hard shake. “Come on, Stevie, forget I said anything. And get rid of these.”

His finger poked at the middle of Steve’s forehead, hard enough to hurt a little, but it made a laugh bubble up out of Steve’s throat.

“That’s better,” Bucky said.

With no other cars to unload, it only took a few minutes after the ferry docked before they were on their way. It was a different world on the other side of the narrows: the road was bordered by grass and trees instead of pavement, making it hard to believe they were still so close to the city. As the sun climbed higher in the sky, they headed west.

*****

“I wonder if we missed the turn?” Bucky said. He was driving slowly now, looking carefully at every corner. “Maybe this is it.”

“I don’t know, Buck. I might be able to help if I knew where we’re going.”

Bucky looked at Steve out of the corner of his eye with a sly smile on his face. “You’ll see.”

After a few wrong turns, Bucky saw a man mowing his lawn and pulled over. He trotted across the grass to talk to the guy, and Steve watched as he gave Bucky directions, waving his hands as he talked.

Bucky was smiling when he got back in the car. “We’re all set. I know where we’re headed now.”

They drove by a lake ringed with trees. Bucky slowed and parked by a fence, beyond which Steve could see a cluster of clapboard buildings and open-sided pavilions. When he spied a set of tracks much too small for a full-size train, Steve started to catch on. “An amusement park? What are we doing here?”

Bucky just grinned and got out of the car.

“Some stuff is boarded up,” Steve pointed out. “They must not open till summer.”

“Not everything is closed.” Bucky made a beeline for an octagonal building that looked like a train roundhouse. “There it is.”

“You taking me for a merry-go-round ride?”

“No, but maybe they’ll let us on the roller coaster if we ask real nice,” Bucky said, giving Steve another sidelong smile.

“Good luck ever getting me on another one of those.”

“Just come on.”

The sign said it was a miniature village, and when they went inside they saw that each house and train was indeed small. The layout as a whole, however, was massive, filling up the whole center of the huge room. Everything was lovingly crafted, the buildings painted perfectly. Train tracks looped around and though the whole thing.

Steve could feel Bucky’s eyes on him, and he glanced over his shoulder to find Bucky watching him, clearly waiting to see if he liked it.

“This is great, Bucky. How’d you find out about this?”

“The fella at the gas station told me about it,” Bucky said. “I remembered those drawings you used to do.”

A long time ago, the doctors had told Steve’s mother that he’d breathe better away from the soot and the exhaust of the city. It had started Steve dreaming about the perfect little town where they might live. For a couple of years, until he realized that his ma would never be able to afford to move like that, he had filled page after page with drawings of their new hometown and the tiny cottage they might live in. Each one included a glimpse of the bigger house next door where the Barnes clan would have installed themselves, having decided to pack up and follow for mysterious reasons Steve had never quite managed to solidify in his mind.

Steve leaned close to the layout, peering down at a little mill. There was real water running past it, spinning its wheel. The level of detail was amazing, with tiny cows in the farmyards, letters on the movie marquee, and laundry drying on clotheslines. It looked just like the quaint towns Steve had imagined: sweet little houses, green lawns, a tidy main street. He knew it was a romanticized version of small-town America. Very few lived in such perfect places, and even those who did had their own worries and struggles, but it was a comforting, happy illusion.

A teenage girl approached, peeking at Bucky shyly from under her eyelashes. “I’m sorry,” she said, Her voice was so quiet Steve had to strain to hear her. “We’re closing in half an hour.”

Bucky gave her a dazzling smile, and Steve could almost see little hearts glowing in her eyes like a cartoon.

“That’s okay,” Bucky said. “We’ll just see what we can.”

She nodded slowly, like she was in a dream, still staring at Bucky, though he didn’t seem to notice how smitten she was.

“Thanks,” he said cheerfully, then grabbed Steve’s arm and towed him over to the layout.

*****

_Coffee Shop_ , the hotel sign read. _Tile Baths – Radios_.

“This looks pretty good,” Bucky said. “And maybe we can get breakfast at the coffee shop in the morning.”

“Looks really good.” Steve hesitated. “It’s probably expensive.”

Bucky shrugged. “We won’t always stay in such nice places. And I figured we could camp sometimes to save money.”

“Camp?”

“Yeah, why not?” “I wondered why you had so much junk in the car. Do you know anything about camping?”

“I know more than you.”

“You do not.”

“Yeah, I do. I read a book.”

Steve started to laugh.

“Why is that funny? That’s how you learn stuff—you read about it in books.” As Steve continued laughing, Bucky lost his indignant expression and grinned. “Okay, so we’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah,” Steve panted. “I guess we’ll figure it out. This still looks expensive.”

“But it’s getting dark,” Bucky said. “And we’re beat. Come on, let’s get a room and get some sleep.”

They couldn’t have been in the hotel’s tiny office for more than five minutes, but it felt longer to Steve because the owner kept eying them suspiciously. “No girls,” he said firmly as he handed Bucky the key.

“Scout’s honor,” Bucky said with a nod.

Steve felt another fit of laughter coming on as they left the office and got their suitcases out of the back of the car. “You were never a scout,” he whispered.

“He doesn’t know that.”

Bucky unlocked the door, and they walked in to find the room neat as a pin. There were twin beds with pale blue bedspreads that matched the striped wallpaper.

“Wow,” Bucky said. “I think this is actually bigger than our entire apartment.”

Steve sidled past Bucky into the room. As he tried to lift his suitcase on top of the dresser, he caught a glimpse of the bathroom sink through the open door next to him. “We have a bathroom all to ourselves.”

Bucky chuckled. “With tile—I know, I saw the sign.” He stepped up behind Steve, took the heavy bag from his hand, and hefted it up onto the dresser.

“I had that.”

“I know you did.” Bucky shrugged off his jack and hung it over the back of a chair. “Do you think they charge extra if you use all the hot water? I want to take a shower for a year, with no one banging on the door for a turn.”

Steve grinned and went to open the window. “I want a turn.”

“Well, you’d better go first then.”

But by the time Steve came out of the bathroom, Bucky was already tucked up in bed. Steve climbed into his own bed, lying on his side to study Bucky in the dim light. His only movements were his slow, deep breaths, but Steve had a feeling he wasn’t asleep.

Steve reached out to turn off the little lamp on the bedside table and tried to get comfortable. But a question had been gnawing at the back of his mind all day. “Bucky? Where’d you get the money for this?”

There was no answer. Maybe he really was sleeping.

“Bucky?” Steve said quietly. “You asleep?”

“Yes.”

Steve smiled at the stupid old joke. “I thought you were gonna take a shower.”

After a yawn, Bucky said, “In the morning. I’m tired.”

Steve told himself he should probably just let Bucky sleep, but he was too stubborn to let it drop. “It was your college money, wasn’t it?” After another long pause, Steve said Bucky’s name again.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Bucky—”

“Yeah, it is. But so what? There’s no way I’m going to college at this point.”

“Why not?”

“Come on, Steve, don’t play dumb. I’m too old for college, and we’re going to get into this war soon anyway—you know that, and everyone’s going to enlist.”

Steve sighed. “You did this for me.”

Bucky didn’t answer.

“You did, didn’t you?” Steve up in bed and threw a pillow at him. “You bought that junky car and lied to your boss because I lost my job. Again. And you wanted to cheer me up.”

Bucky got out of bed and came over to sit on the edge of Steve’s, pushing the pillow down on top of his face. Steve grabbed it and tucked it back under his head.

“That’s how it started, I guess,” Bucky said. “But the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to do it. I just want to see a little bit of this country before I nobly charge into battle to defend it.”

He said it sarcastically, like he was just goofing around, but Steve knew there was some truth to what Bucky said. It made Steve’s belly feel hollow. He knew he probably wouldn’t make the cut, and staying home when Bucky was going overseas would be the worst.

*****

By the third day they’d made their way into Maryland. They stayed at a tiny hotel in Baltimore, but the neighborhood wasn’t very appealing. After a quick breakfast of coffee and pastry, they headed for the car, which they’d had to park several blocks away. Bucky tucked their bags into the back and got behind the wheel.

“Annapolis is a real town, right?” he said. “The guy at the front desk said it was a good place to go. They’ll have restaurants there.”

“I guess,” Steve said, pulling the door closed.

“Cause I think I’m gonna scream if I have to eat more cold cuts.” They’d been stopping at markets to get fruit and sandwich makings because it was cheaper than eating in restaurants all the time, but the day before they’d had salami on rye for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Steve had bought a newspaper on the corner by the diner that morning, and as Bucky steered through the city streets, he unfolded it.

“What’s that?” Bucky asked.

“What’s it look like?”

Bucky glanced over at the newspaper in Steve’s hands before turning his gaze back to the road. “We’re supposed to be on vacation, remember? Don’t read all of that. It’s depressing.”

The sky was gray when they started, but as they drove south the sun burned away the clouds. By the time Bucky squeezed the car into a tight spot by the curb of a residential street, the day was sunny and hot for so early in spring. Steve pulled off his jacket and left it on his seat when they set off to explore on foot.

Annapolis was a quaint little town, with its uneven brick pavement and old buildings. The statehouse at the top of the hill looked like it had been around since colonial days, though they might have just built it that way to make it fit in. Steve and Bucky wound their way through the narrow streets until Steve was a little short of breath.

“Let’s ask somebody where we can get something to eat,” Bucky said. “I’m starving.”

“It’s barely eleven o’clock.”

“I know, but we didn’t eat enough for breakfast. Here, you go ask that lady over there.”

Bucky gave Steve’s back a gentle nudge.

“Why me?"

“Cause you look like a nice kid. Come on, ask her where we can find something good for cheap.”

The woman was friendly and sent them down the hill to the harbor, where there was a fish market. Lots of people were there getting stuff wrapped to take home, but a few stalls sold seafood ready to eat. Bucky took charge, ordering a couple of crab cake sandwiches and a dozen raw oysters.

“Raw?” Steve said as he watched the stall proprietor prying open the shells with a small, round-handled knife. “Are you sure?”

Bucky shrugged and gave Steve a lopsided grin. “Live a little.”

After buying a couple of bottles of pop from a stall by the door, Bucky led Steve across the street to an empty bench right next to the harbor. He unwrapped the oysters and held one out to Steve. It was slimy-looking and kind of lumpy, but Steve grabbed the shell and slurped it down. The flavor wasn’t terrible—he’d had oyster stew before—but it was like swallowing a mouthful of quivering rubber. Bucky was watching him closely.

“Interesting,” Steve said, not wanting to be discouraging.

Bucky picked one up and eyed it suspiciously before raising it to his lips. He barely got the whole thing in his mouth before he was spitting it back out again. It landed on the sidewalk and was almost instantly snatched up by a watching seagull, who lifted his beak and bobbed his head to swallow it.

“Look, even the bird has to choke it down. That was awful,” Bucky made a face. “It’s like someone blew their nose in fish soup and put it in a clam shell.”

Steve laughed. “You mean an oyster shell.”

Bucky swished Coca Cola around in his mouth, trying to get rid of the taste. “I hope the crab cake is better than that.”

“It’s gotta be.”

After a big bite of his sandwich, Bucky sighed in relief. “It’s good. It’s really good. You should try it.”

“In a second,” Steve said. He gulped down another oyster, hoping it was an acquired taste.

Bucky watched him with a pained grimace on his face. “You don’t have to eat them, you know.”

“I hate to waste them,” Steve said. He ate a third one—mostly just to see the disgusted expression on Bucky’s face—before giving up. “Yeah, I’m not sure I can stomach any more.”

They threw the rest to the gulls and stuck to the sandwiches after that.

“I’m going to get another sandwich,” Bucky said, brushing breadcrumbs off his lap. “You want another?”

Steve shook his head.

“You’ll wait here?”

Steve nodded.

As Bucky crossed the street, two young women walked by, one blonde and one brunette. Bucky slowed his pace and touched the brim of his hat to bump it up higher on his forehead. He must have said something to the girls, because they laughed, then walked away smiling. He always could get the dames’ attention. He made it look so easy, and he gave Steve perfectly good advice. Steve figured Bucky’s strategies probably didn’t work as well for him because deep down, he didn’t really want them to.

Steve pulled out his sketchbook—he’d been pleased that Bucky had remembered to pack it—figuring he could capture enough of the boats in the little harbor so that it would be easy to finish the drawing later from memory. He lost himself in his work until something brushed across his hair, and he ducked reflexively. There were a lot of seagulls around, and they seemed fearless, but it was Bucky, settling his hat on Steve’s head.

“Your face is getting sunburned,” Bucky said. “We should get out of the sun. Maybe get back on the road?”

“I want to see the Naval Academy.”

“Where’s that?”

Steve pointed to a couple of young men in white uniforms. “We can ask them.”

Bucky shrugged. It was obvious he wasn’t very interested, but he stood and walked over to the two sailors. While Steve packed up his drawing stuff, he studied Bucky, imagining him in one of those uniforms. He’d look so handsome. But Bucky would look handsome in a burlap sack.

Before Steve caught up, Bucky thanked the sailors with a wave and strolled back. “It’s not far,” Bucky said. “We can walk over there and then back to the car when we’re done.”

The campus was just what Steve imagined: big stone buildings with large green lawns in between, all sitting on a piece of land between the Annapolis harbor and a wide river so that it was surrounded by water on three sides. He would have loved to have enrolled, but he probably wouldn’t have passed the physical, and his grades were never all that good, what with being out sick so much. Bucky might have gotten in though—he’d been a good student and a decent athlete in high school.

“You know you could have gone to college here for free,” Steve said, nudging Bucky with his elbow.

Bucky’s only response was a small shake of the head. Steve could tell just looking at Bucky’s expression that something was bugging him. He was probably thinking about the impending war again—if he’d gone to the academy, he might be a Navy officer by now. Steve tried for a distraction, blurting out, “You could come to art college with me instead.”

The change of subject worked. Bucky turned his head to look at Steve and grinned. “Yeah? I guess you know a lot more about art than I do. You think stick figures are going to be the next big thing?”

There were a few other people not in uniform, but they were older, probably professors, and Steve and Bucky earned a few puzzled looks for their civilian clothes. After walking around the whole campus, they sat down on the grass looking out over the river.

“It’s pretty,” Steve said.

He turned his head and found Bucky staring at him.

“What is?”

“The view.”

“Oh.” Bucky looked around as if noticing the blue sky and the dark choppy water for the first time. “Yeah, it is pretty.” He was quiet then for a long while.

A sailboat went by manned by a bearded man in a knit cap. He waved, and Steve waved back, but Bucky didn’t move. He didn’t even seem to notice.

After another long pause, Bucky said, “Should be pretty easy to find a cheap room around here.”

“Probably.”

“I was thinking we could make it an early night and try to get out first thing in the morning, really get some miles under our belt.”

“Okay,” Steve said. “What’s the hurry?”

“No hurry, I guess. I just thought maybe we should figure out exactly where we’re going.”

“I figured we were just going to wander. Go where the mood takes us.”

“We could.” Bucky looked thoughtful. “But this is a once in a lifetime chance. We should pick somewhere great. You know, a real destination.”

“Okay. Steve shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind seeing Washington. The Capitol, the White House, all the monuments.” Bucky was making a face, and Steve gave his shoulder a shove. “Fine, I’m boring—I get it.” But Steve wasn’t bothered. He didn’t much care where they went.

“You know where I want to go?”

“Where?”

“New Orleans.” After Bucky said it, he beamed at Steve, clearly expecting him to be as enthusiastic as he was. “What do you think?”

“I think that sounds fine,” Steve said, though all he could think of was how many miles there were between Maryland and Louisiana.

“A guy I work with is from New Orleans, and the way he talks about it? Great music, great food. They have all these old buildings. Not old like falling down—historic, you know?”

Steve waved his hand around. “You mean like these buildings here, all around us?”

“I mean different. Almost like you’re in Europe.”

“You might be in Europe for real before too long if you’re right about the war.”

Steve said it without thinking and kicked himself when Bucky ducked his head.

“New Orleans sounds great,” Steve said. He tried to sound enthusiastic, and it was an interesting idea. There would probably be a million things in a place like that to catch an artist’s eye.

“And he says the girls there know how to have a good time.”

There was a hungry note in Bucky’s voice that dampened Steve’s enthusiasm a little, but if Bucky wanted to head for New Orleans, Steve was game. He pushed his doubts aside and smiled. “I bet they serve oysters in New Orleans too.”

*****

Bucky had brought a big stack of maps along, and as they drove south, Steve pored over them, considering possible routes. The more he looked at them, and the more calculations he did, the more he realized how very far they had to travel if they wanted to get to New Orleans.

He looked over at Bucky, who was aimlessly whistling with one elbow resting on the door.

“Hey, Buck?”

He stopped whistling and flashed Steve a grin before directing his attention back to the road ahead. “Yeah?”

Bucky seemed so happy. Steve hesitated to burst his bubble, but he figured it was better to warn Bucky now, when there was still time to pick somewhere else to go, rather than have him be disappointed later.

“I’ve been looking at your maps, and I don’t know about New Orleans.”

Bucky frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s awfully far. If you told your boss you’d be back by the end of the month—”

“That’s not set in stone,” Bucky said. “We could tack a few more days onto the end.”

“I don’t think a few more days will be enough. Do you know how far it is? We’d have to make more than two hundred miles a day. Even if we have good luck with the weather, I’m not sure we can always do that.”

“Steve—”

“We could go somewhere else.” Steve rushed on, not wanting to start an argument but hoping to snag Bucky’s enthusiasm on another destination. “There are lots of placed in the South that would be interesting. How about Charleston? That’s got historic buildings and . . .” Steve trailed off when Bucky made a face.

“That seems so dull,” Bucky said, “compared to New Orleans.”

“But it’s about half the distance. Or how about going to the beach? I bet it’s a lot different than going to Coney Island. We could—”

Bucky interrupted with a tight smile. “How about we take an extra week? I can send him a telegram.”

Steve wasn’t sure even another two weeks would be enough to get there and back and actually have time to see anything. He also wondered exactly how much money Bucky had left, though he wouldn’t ask him in a million years. As Steve tried to think of a convincing argument, Bucky seemed to take his silence for agreement. His smile came back, and as Steve folded up the maps, he heard Bucky’s quiet whistling begin again.

*****

“Appomattox.” Steve said the name aloud as he saw it on the map.

“Bless you.”

Steve looked up, and Bucky was grinning at him.

“Very funny. Come on, Appomattox Court House. I know you got an A in American History.”

“Civil War, General Lee, I remember. But so what?”

“So it’s only a little bit west of here,” Steve said. “Can we go?”

“You want to see it?”

“Do you mind?”

As Bucky gave an exaggerated shrug, his bottom lip pouted out just slightly, distracting Steve for a moment.

“If you want,” Bucky said. “I guess I gotta let you do some boring stuff on this trip.”

Steve reached over and nudged Bucky’s shoulder with his knuckles.

It took them a while to find the place, which was marked only by a small wooden sign at the bottom of a dirt drive.

“Are we allowed to just drive in?” Bucky asked.

“I don’t know. I guess so. There’s nothing telling us not to.”

“Okay.” Bucky turned, driving slowly over the rutted, packed dirt. He stopped the car and turned off the engine about a hundred yards from an old brick farmhouse.

“It doesn’t look like a courthouse,” Bucky said, peering through the dusty windshield. “It’s just a house.”

Steve saw an old man emerge from behind the house with a shovel over one shoulder. “Let’s go ask him.”

The old man waved as they approached and set his shovel down by a stump. Clearly they were interrupting his work, but he was cheerful about it. “Can I help you boys?”

“We’re looking for Appomattox Court House,” Steve said. “But I think maybe we got turned around. Is it near here?”

“No, that’s the village.”

“What’s the village?”

“Appomattox Court House.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, feeling as if he’d missed something. “We’re looking for Appomattox Court House. Isn’t it a national park now?”

“Yes,” the old guy said, seemingly pleased. “It is at that.”

“Okay,” Steve said. “Great. Do you know where it is?”

“Yes.”

“Good, great. So can you tell us where it is?”

“Appomattox Court House is right over that hill over there, past those trees and down a bit. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you! Thank you, we’ll just—”

“But there’s no courthouse there.”

“Excuse me?” Steve glanced at Bucky, then turned back to the man. “They always say it happened at Appomattox Court House. The surrender.”

“It did,” the old man agreed. “But not at a courthouse.”

“ _Who’s on first?_ ” Bucky whispered.

Steve scowled at Bucky—he didn’t want the old man to think they were laughing at him—but he obviously heard what Bucky’d said. His eyes opened a bit wider in surprise, and Steve thought he might get angry, but instead he started to laugh.

“He’s a smart one, eh?” He reached out and clapped his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “I’m just pulling your leg. Lots of folks get confused. The battle was at Appomattox Court House. That’s the name of the town itself—”

“Which doesn’t really have a courthouse?” Bucky interjected.

“Precisely,” the old man said, giving Bucky an approving wink. “It’s the county seat, is all, so that’s what they call it. But this is where Lee surrendered, there in that room.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the window behind him. 

The man unlocked the door of the house for them, but then went back to his work, still chuckling.

“That guy,” Bucky said as he pushed open the creaking door, “needs to get out more. He was just messing with us the whole time.” “Ssshh, he’ll hear you.”

“And you fell for it: hook, line, and sinker.”

There was nothing terribly exciting in the house—just a large, dusty room with a few pieces of sheet-covered furniture.

“Is this really the right place?” Steve asked.

Bucky shrugged. “That guy seems to know what he’s talking about. Hell, he’s old enough—he was probably here when it happened.”

Steve went to read the papers tacked to the wall, but it was hard to concentrate with Bucky prowling around the room behind him. When he finally stopped pacing, Steve looked over at him. He was gazing out the window.

Steve turned back to the information sheet in front of him, but his reading was interrupted by Bucky saying, under his breath, “Holy cow.”

His attention had been caught by a paper tacked to the wall near the door. As Steve approached, he saw that the paper was covered with long columns of numbers.

“A lot of guys died,” Bucky said. “More than any other war the U.S. has ever fought, it says here.”

“Well, that makes sense, if you consider that Americans fought on both sides.”

Bucky didn’t respond. He stalked over to the other window and leaned against the wall, looking out. Steve found another information sheet and started to read. “Hey, Buck, take a look at this.”

Bucky looked over his shoulder at Steve. “What is it?”

“Just come here. I’ve never heard this story before.”

Slowly, Bucky turned and came over to read the sign over Steve’s shoulder. It described how Wilmer McLean, the owner of the house they were standing in, had also owned the plantation where the Battle of Bull Run took place. McLean moved, probably to get his family away from the fighting, only to have the final battle of the war happen in his new hometown. “Started in his front yard and ended in his front parlor,” Bucky read, then he let out a long sigh. “There’s no getting away from it,” he said grimly. “You try to run and hide, but it just follows you.”

“Maybe it’s just the company he keeps,” Steve said. “It says here he worked as a grocer, supplying the Confederate army.”

Bucky let out a derisive snort. “If you lie down with dogs. . . .” But he walked back to the window without finishing the saying. He didn’t talk much after that. He followed Steve around without seeming to take anything in. It wasn’t until they were driving away that Steve learned what was bothering him.

“Maybe I won’t enlist.” Bucky’s tone was almost aggressive. “Maybe I’ll just wait until they start drafting people.”

“Are you kidding?” “No, Steve, I’m not. You really think I should be eager to sign up? Just to get my head blown off?”

Bucky sounded genuinely angry, and Steve could see why. He hadn’t been thinking about it like that, wouldn’t let himself think about the fact that Bucky would be in danger—it was too awful. Bucky would be okay. He was smart, and he’d find a way to get by.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Bucky didn’t answer. Steve looked out the window at the countryside. It was all rolling hills and trees blowing in the spring breeze. It was hard to imagine white tents scattered everywhere and wounded men lying on the ground.

“You know, someday there will be a site like that for _this_ war. A place where it ended, where they made peace.” Steve looked over at Bucky, but he was looking at the road, not turning his gaze to Steve even for a moment. “The Civil War was an important war. A war worth fighting, and this one is too.”

“Don’t you think I know that?”

“Then why are you talking about waiting to get drafted?”

“I just—” Bucky broke off and sighed again.

“Come on,” Steve said. “You said you wanted to see the country some, and we are. But doesn’t that make you want to fight even _more_? I mean, this is what you’d be fighting for.” Steve gestured at a farmhouse as they drive past. “These farmers and small towns and guys who sell oysters. Don’t you see that?”

There was a long pause, and Steve started to think he’d made Bucky so angry he wouldn’t answer. But finally, Bucky let out a huff of air.

“Can’t I fight for the folks in New York?” he said. “I actually know some of them. I don’t want to go to war for complete strangers.”

Steve saw through Bucky’s ham-handed attempt to change the subject with a bit of teasing, but he let him do it. And Bucky was probably right. This trip was supposed to be for fun. So no more Civil War sites, no more battlefields, Steve decided. They’d drive through the mountains and live it up in New Orleans and forget about the real world for a little while.

*****

“Need a break?” Steve asked. “I could drive for a bit.”

Bucky seemed to like doing most of the driving, and Steve didn’t mind. He passed the time looking out the window, doodling in his sketchbook, or simply staring at Bucky’s profile while his attention was fixed on the road. But Bucky had just yawned for the tenth time. Steve had been counting.

“Yeah, okay.” Bucky pulled off the road, then got out and stretched. “I am pretty beat.”

Bucky crawled into the back and curled up on his side, and Steve settled himself in the driver’s seat. Bucky fell asleep almost immediately.

After about an hour, Steve noticed that the road was empty, and it was no wonder—the pavement was a mess. He had to steer carefully around the worst parts. At first he was just trying not to wake Bucky, but as the road got worse he realized that hitting some of the gaping potholes at speed might break an axle. Steve drove more and more slowly, looking over his shoulder to check on Bucky and marveling that he was able to sleep with the car bouncing over obstacles like it was.

The sun peeked out from behind the clouds and reflected off something in the road. Steve stopped the car and squinted ahead, but he couldn’t see anything. He decided it was worth checking and opened the car door, leaving the engine running. When he found the big chunks of glass lying on the pavement he was glad he’d scouted ahead. He kicked the largest pieces away into the grass at the side of the road, but there were a million tiny shards that would be impossible to pick up. The oncoming lane was clear though, and with the road deserted it would be safer to just steer around the broken glass.

When Steve turned back to the car, however, he realized that his caution had been pointless. The front tire on the driver’s side was already flat. Maybe it was part of the same bottle—the pieces were scattered all over the place. Or maybe he’d driven over something else miles back. He hadn’t noticed any difference in the way the car was running, probably because he’d been going so slowly.

He sighed and trudged back to climb in the car. He pulled off the road, killed the engine, then got up on his knees and leaned over the seat back to shake Bucky’s shoulder.

“Hey, Bucky.”

It took a couple more shakes before Bucky’s eyes opened.

“Steve?”

“Sorry, Buck. We’ve got a flat.”

Bucky groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. “Okay,” he sighed. “Okay, just give me a sec to wake up.”

“I’m really sorry.”

Bucky gave Steve a crooked grin as he pulled himself upright. “It’s not your fault.”

He stood beside the car, hands on his hips, considering the problem tire. It was completely flat, the weight of the car resting on the rim.

“Do you know how to change it?” Steve said.

“Sure, I know how.”

“And we do have a spare, right?”

Bucky smiled. “Yeah, it’s fine.” Then his face fell. “Oh.”

“What?”

Bucky let out a big sigh. “The tools are buried under all of the rest of the stuff in the back.”

“So we gotta take everything out?”

“Maybe. Let me see if I can just shift some things around and find the tire iron.”

But after twenty minutes of rooting around and getting hit in the head with things sliding down off too-tall piles, Bucky emerged from the back of the car, face red and hair a mess. His body was a rigid column of frustration.

“Hey, Buck?”

Bucky didn’t answer.

“I was thinking . . . it’s getting kind of late anyway. If we have to take everything out of the car, maybe we could just camp here. Nobody’s come by the whole time we’ve been here. Probably no one will even know we’re here, much less care.”

Bucky’s shoulders relaxed, though his expression was still thunderous.

“We can make a fire and cook those steaks before they spoil.”

After considering for a few more moments, Bucky agreed with a nod.

Bucky started to pull things out of the car while Steve scouted around for the best place to set up. As he pushed through the scrubby growth, he noticed that the sky seemed to be getting darker. It had been overcast all day without any rain, and Steve hoped their luck with the weather would hold. He found a clearing in the trees, set away from the road a little bit.

When he returned to the car, Bucky handed him a stack of blankets.

“I found a good spot,” Steve said. “I’ll gather some firewood, and—”

Bucky interrupted. “I can do that.”

“You’ll be busy with the tire.”

Without a word, Bucky ducked into the car, pulled out Steve’s suitcase, and set it on the ground.

“So I’ll get the firewood,” Steve said.

Bucky paused, frowning. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “You’re just getting over pneumonia.”

Steve felt a flare of anger. He hated when Bucky coddled him. It made him feel like a child. “I’m fine.”

“I know,” Bucky said, but he didn’t look at Steve. “But—”

“I can pick up a few stupid branches, Bucky.”

Again, Bucky leaned into the open car door and pulled out another armload of stuff.

“C’mon,” Steve said. “Don’t try to—”

“You know what? Fine!” Bucky threw his arms up, dumping the things he’d been holding onto the dusty ground. Then he turned his back to Steve and said over his shoulder, “Knock yourself out. See if I care.”

Even though Bucky had already given in, the stubborn part of Steve wanted to stay and fight. Instead, he dropped the stack of blankets on top of his suitcase, which had fallen onto its side. Then he turned on his heel and stomped into the trees. It was hard to maintain his righteous indignation when a few feet into the scrub he got tripped up by a leafy vine and he had to stop and untangle his ankle.

He’d gathered a pretty good pile of branches in the clearing—probably not enough for a fire all evening, but enough to cook their supper, at least—when he heard Bucky shout and went running back to the car. If Bucky was hurt, out here in the middle of nowhere—

But Bucky was standing by the flat tire, kicking it repeatedly. He held the tire iron in one hand. He let out another incoherent shout and gave the tire a final hard kick before wincing, then collapsing cross-legged on the dirt. Steve had never seen Bucky throw a temper tantrum in his life. He rarely got angry, and when he did it was an intense, quiet sort of thing, so Steve was thrown for a loop by this outburst.

When Bucky’s heavy breathing had calmed, Steve approached and sat down next to him on the ground. After a few more minutes of silence, Bucky said, “I found the tire iron.”

Steve snorted out a laugh—he couldn’t help it. He was afraid it would make Bucky angry again, but instead his expression opened up, and he almost smiled.

“It’s just—” Bucky ran his hands over his hair, smoothing it. “I finally found the damn thing, and I thought I could just get the flat off, get the spare on there, get us back on the road. But one of the lug nuts is stuck, and everything’s going to hell.” He gave Steve a pitiable smile. “This is the worst trip ever.”

“Things aren’t that bad, Buck, come on.”

“We’ve barely done anything. This was supposed to be—” Bucky broke off and stared down at his lap. “It’s just not turning out the way I wanted it to.”

Steve put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. He was careful about touching Bucky, usually, though Bucky was pretty free with affection himself. Steve just didn’t want to let himself get carried away. But Bucky seemed to appreciate the gesture now. He leaned into Steve’s hand, just a little.

“Maybe I can help?” Steve said. And he saw Bucky start to object, to put Steve off and not let him do his share. Then he could see the exact moment when Bucky decided not to start that argument again: he closed his mouth and forced a smile.

“Okay.”

Bucky had gotten almost all of the lug nuts off, but the last one was stubborn. Steve figured out that if he held the tire iron steady, Bucky could put his foot on it, and his weight was enough to get things moving. After that it took only a few minutes to get the spare on, and by the time they were done, Bucky was looking less glum. 

They got things back in order, putting stuff they wouldn’t need back in the car and carrying the rest to the campsite. Steve started to spread out their blankets while Bucky tried to get the fire started, but the wind had picked up. Every time Bucky got a feeble flame going, a stiff breeze blew it out. And every time, Bucky would sigh heavily and try again.

Thunder rolled in the distance, and Steve froze for a moment before looking over at Bucky. He had grown still too, one hand holding the box of matches, the other reaching for another branch to add to the fire. Another rumble, closer this time, made Bucky rise to his feet and look up at the clouds. Steve stood too, watching him.

Steve felt a raindrop fall on his forearm and immediately began rolling up the blankets. He pulled as much as he could into his arms and turned, but stopped in his tracks when he saw that Bucky was still standing in the same place.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked.

Bucky turned and grinned at him. “What are _you_ doing? Everything’s going to be soaked no matter what we do.”

“Not if we hurry.” But even as Steve said it, fat raindrops began plopping down all around them. He muttered a curse and dashed for the car. He managed to stuff his armload of blankets inside quickly, but the rain was picking up.

He ran back to the campsite and found Bucky still standing where he’d left him. His shirt was soaked through, clinging to his chest and shoulders.

“Bucky?”

He turned his head, and Steve was surprised to see that he was laughing.

“Buck, are you okay?”

“I’m great,” Bucky said. “I figure, what else could go wrong? Right?”

Steve couldn’t help but smile. “I guess. But it’s starting to rain harder. Shouldn’t we get the rest of our stuff in the car?”

Bucky started helping then, but he still acted a little goofy, laughing at the clouds and taking his time. By the time they got everything back in the car, they were both soaked through. It took a while to rearrange what they’d shoved in so haphazardly, and once they’d changed into dry clothes and stowed their bags out of way, Steve’s stomach was growling.

“I guess steak is out of the question.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Unless you want it caveman style.”

“Sandwiches?”

Bucky groaned.

It was dark enough inside the car that they needed the flashlight to throw together their meal. They ate the last of the lunchmeat, and there was nothing to drink but lukewarm, tinny-tasting water from the canteen Bucky’d found in his parents’ attic. At least there was dessert: a few cookies left in the box Bucky had bought at a bakery in a little town called Culpeper. Steve took two and Bucky ate the rest.

The rain was still pouring down outside as they settled down for the night with Bucky in the front seat and Steve in the back. It wasn’t very late, but it had been a long day, with the terrible road, the flat tire, and rushing around trying to beat the rain. Bucky didn’t seem tired though—he was still being silly. 

“Knock, knock,” he said while Steve tried to arrange his blankets more comfortably.

Steve ignored him.

“Knock, knock.”

Steve refused to take the bait.

“Come on, Steve. _Knock, knock_.”

“You tell terrible jokes.”

Bucky laughed anyway.

“Will you settle down?” Steve said.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Well, neither can I with you goofing around.”

“Okay, sorry.”

Bucky was quiet for all of two minutes. Steve had just started to relax when he heard movement. He opened his eyes and could see the pale shape of Bucky’s face peering over the seat.

“I don’t think it’s even ten o’clock yet,” Bucky whispered.

“So? We were up early. I’m tired. Go to sleep.”

Bucky’s face disappeared, and Steve heard him flop back onto the seat cushion with an exaggerated sigh. The quiet lasted for only a few seconds this time. Then Bucky started singing.

“ _I get along without you very well, of course I do. Except when soft rains fall . . ._ ” Bucky broke off and said, “I guess this is more than a soft rain, huh?”

Bucky had a nice voice. He’d been a choirboy when they were kids—his mother still bragged about it sometimes. And Steve usually liked hearing Bucky sing, but he was in such a strange mood, and Steve didn’t know what to make of it.

“ _And drip from leaves, then I recall, the thrill of being sheltered in your arms_.”

“Bucky.”

“ _Of course, I do, but I get along without you very well_.” “Come on, Bucky.” “ _Except to hear your name, or someone's laugh that is the same_.” Bucky’s pillow sailed over the seat back and landed on Steve’s head. It was cold and damp.

“Why is your pillow all wet?”

Bucky laughed. “Apparently the roof leaks.”

“Bucky!”

“What?”

“You’re just lying there getting dripped on?”

“It’s just a little water.”

Steve sat up and reached over the seat. Bucky’s hair was damp. Steve groped lower and found that Bucky’s shirt was damp too.

Bucky shoved Steve’s hand away. “Hey, cut it out.”

“You can’t sleep like this.” Steve pulled Bucky’s blanket off and threw it into the front footwell. “You’ll catch your death.”

Bucky snorted. “Maybe _you_ would. I’ll be fine. I think the rain is slowing down.”

Steve felt around in his tangled blankets for the flashlight. When he shone the beam at the ceiling, he could see the water dripping almost directly over Bucky’s head.

“Come on, we can share the back.”

“Okay.” Bucky started to climb over the seat.

“Wait, you’re soaked. You’ll get my blanket all wet.”

Bucky sank back onto the front seat to pull off his wet clothes. Steve tried not to watch, and of course he couldn’t direct the light right at him. But even the indirect light was enough to show glimpses. The patch of hair over his breastbone as he undid his buttons. The pale skin of his inner arm as he peeled off his wet shirt.

Steve turned away, so he was surprised when Bucky climbed over the seat, completely naked. Had his pants gotten wet? He plopped down onto the back seat right next to Steve, and Steve looked. He couldn’t help it.

Bucky was hard. Steve gaped.

“Steve.”

It was like Steve was hypnotized. Bucky’s dick jutted up from his lap, demanding attention.

“Steve, come on.”

“What?”

“I’m naked, and you’re staring.”

“Sorry, you’re—” Steve broke off and gestured at Bucky’s impressive erection.

Bucky said Steve’s name again, this time sounding strangled.

Steve tore his eyes away. Bucky looked mortified, and Steve’s own face flushed in sympathy. He fumbled for the flashlight, but Bucky took it from his hands before he could turn it off. They sat in silence for several moments, Steve afraid to look at Bucky, while the rain drummed on the car roof.

Bucky spoke first. “I can’t help it.”

Steve’s eyes trailed down Bucky’s body. He was gorgeous, all lean muscle. He was slouched back against the seat, his legs spread. He wasn’t exactly being shy. Maybe he wanted Steve to look.

So Steve looked. And it was enough to make him hard too.

“If you want. . . .” Steve swallowed. “If you want, maybe I could help.”

Bucky didn’t answer. He was staring off at nothing. His tongue slid across his lower lip. Steve put a hand on his thigh, and the muscle went tense under his hand.

Steve slid his hand up Bucky’s thigh very slowly. Then, even more slowly, he wrapped his fingers around Bucky’s dick.

Bucky said Steve’s name, quiet and breathy, and it made Steve’s dick jump in his pants. His fingers clenched reflexively, and Bucky moaned. His head fell back and hit the seat with a thunk.

Steve took a shaky breath and moved his hand up and down, trying not to grip too tightly. Bucky was silent, and Steve realized he was holding his breath.

“Bucky?” Steve said, his hand frozen in place. “This okay?”

“Uh-huh.” Bucky sounded funny. His voice was all tight and high. “Please don’t stop.”

“Okay.” Steve tried another stroke, and Bucky pushed up into his hand. Steve tightened his fingers around the head of Bucky’s dick, and Bucky groaned. He thrust up again, then again, his hips not even coming to rest on the cushion in between.

Steve reached out with his left hand, wrapping it around the shaft while still teasing the tip with his right.

“Jesus,” Bucky said between panting breaths. “Jesus Christ, please don’t stop.” He thrust up again, then cried out, and Steve felt a warm flood in his hand. It coated his fingers as Bucky kept shoving himself into Steve’s hands.

Steve just held on as best he could, wishing there was more light so he could see it better. He wanted to see the expression on Bucky’s face, but his head was still lolling back on the seat, tilting his face up towards the ceiling as his breathing quieted.

Steve’s breaths still sounded like a locomotive going up a mountainside. He waited—hard as a rock after what he’d just seen, what he’d just done—not sure whether he should move his hands away. Bucky shifted next to him. His hand lifted and came to rest on Steve’s leg, but he was afraid to look up and meet Bucky’s gaze.

“Looks like you could use a little help too.”

Steve’s eyes snapped open. Bucky was staring down at Steve’s tented khakis. Steve snatched his hands away from Bucky’s softening dick. Bucky let out a hiss—he must have still been sensitive—and his hand clamped down tight on Steve’s thigh. As Bucky reached for the button on Steve’s pants, the heel of his hand brushed the tip of Steve’s dick. Steve gasped, and Bucky laughed.

“Oh yeah, you really need help.” He wrapped his hand around Steve through the fabric and gave him a squeeze.

Steve couldn’t breathe at all.

Bucky opened Steve’s fly and pulled out his dick. His hand was big and warm and strong, and it took all of two seconds before Steve was coming hard with an embarrassing whine. Even after he’d milked out everything Steve had, Bucky kept on stroking his dick, slowly and gently, making Steve twitch. It wasn’t until Bucky chuckled right next to his ear that Steve realized how close he was, his chin resting on Steve’s shoulder and his nose mashed into the side of Steve’s head.

Steve wanted to say something, but he couldn’t catch his breath. So he just sat there like an idiot while Bucky wiped up the mess and pulled a blanket over the both of them.

Steve slept like a log, even with the two of them crowded into the back seat.

*****

Steve woke very early the next morning. Light was just starting to peek through the clouds. He pushed the blankets away and sat up. He was alone in the car, and though he craned his neck, he couldn’t see Bucky anywhere outside the car either. But the clearing they’d planned to camp in was hidden by a lot of scrubby trees, so if that’s where Bucky was, Steve wouldn’t be able to see him. He sure hoped Bucky wasn’t avoiding him.

The night before, with Bucky naked and willing, Steve had jumped at the chance to find out what it was like to touch Bucky, be touched by him, even if it could never be the way he wanted. Now, sitting alone in the backseat of the car, he was kicking himself. Bucky’d been tired, and between the frustration over the car and the weather, and the following silliness, he’d been in a strange mood. It had been a stupid thing for Steve to do, taking advantage of that. It wasn’t much better than taking advantage of someone who’d had too much to drink.

It could be painfully awkward. Bucky might be furious. Or worse, disgusted. Steve decided to pretend like nothing had happened, unless Bucky brought it up first. But it had been good—no, wonderful—and Steve would do his best to remember that, no matter how Bucky reacted this morning.

Steve pulled on some clean clothes and climbed out of the car. By the time he made his way into the clearing, Bucky had managed a pretty good blaze. “I’m getting better at this. Getting the fire going, I mean,” Bucky said. “Which is a good thing, because I’m starving. You hungry?”

Steve nodded. Bucky didn’t seem angry at all, or even stand-offish. If anything he was more cheerful and talkative than he usually was early in the morning.

“Did you put your raincoat over the firewood we piled up last night?”

“Yeah.” Steve felt lucky that Bucky was in such a happy frame of mind, so he wasn’t about to remind him of their bickering the night before by objecting to his choice of a plural pronoun. “Did it help?”

“I think it did. I took pieces from the top of the stack, and they were completely dry.”

“Good.” “I thought I’d cook those steaks.”

“For breakfast?”

“Why not? With scrambled eggs. It’ll be good.”

When breakfast was ready, Bucky handed Steve a plate, and he looked him right in the eye and smiled. Steve smiled back, and it was okay. They would be okay.

*****

Neither of them had seen real mountains before. They kept pointing them out to each other as they approached, as if there was any way they could miss them looming on the horizon.

“They don’t look quite real,” Steve said. “More like a painted backdrop for a movie.”

As they drove further into western Virginia, the road wound up into the hills, and Steve’s ears started popping painfully from the change in air pressure, but he didn’t mind. It was worth it for the view. He’d never imagined so many different shades of trees, from the dark pines to the pale new spring buds.

They stopped at a scenic overlook on a newly completed section of the Blue Ridge Parkway to have a picnic lunch. “Oh, goody,” Bucky said as he got out the food. “Sandwiches again.” His tone was deadpan and his expression grim, but when Steve smiled at him, his face split into a grin. He made lunch while Steve spread out a blanket in the shade.

After a few bites, Steve sympathized more with Bucky’s annoyance. The lack of variety was getting to both of them.

“Look at that.” Bucky gestured over to the right, still holding his sandwich in his hand. “We’re higher than the clouds.”

It was true—the wind had blown a cloud over the valley, while the overlook was still in bright sunshine. But Steve was distracted from the view because he noticed that Bucky had only cheese between his bread.

“Wait a minute,” Steve said. “Why don’t you have any meat on your sandwich.”

Bucky sighed. “We didn’t have much left. But I’m tired of it anyway.’

Steve knew Bucky was trying to take care of him, feed him up because he’d lost some weight while he’d been sick. Bucky was always doing nice things for him, and Steve couldn’t decide how he felt about it. It pulled him in too many different directions.

“Come on.” Steve held out half of his sandwich. “You’ll be starving in an hour if that’s all you eat.”

Buck didn’t take the sandwich from Steve’s hand. “I was going to have an apple afterward.”

“Will you just take it?” It came out with more anger than Steve intended, but Bucky finally reached out and grabbed it, then shoved half of his cheese sandwich into Steve’s hand.

After they ate, Bucky settled down on his back with his hat over his face for a nap. Steve tried to sketch the valley, but he kept stealing peeks at Bucky. When he shifted in his sleep and his hat fell off onto the blanket, Steve gave up on the view and indulged in sketching Bucky as he slept.

*****

“What the hell does this guy think he’s doing, bringing that thing on the road?”

Steve had been absorbed in his sketchbook, but hearing Bucky’s frustrated tone, he looked up and saw that the car in front of them was pulling a ramshackle trailer.

“It looks like it’s held together with wire and chewing gum,” Bucky grumbled.

“And maybe wishful thinking,” Steve said.

Bucky tossed Steve a grin, then asked, “Is there another way?”

Steve set his drawing pad aside and struggled to unfold the map. “Well. . . .”

“What?”

“There are other roads. . . .”

“But?”

“I think we’d be better off where we are. Even getting stuck behind this guy, we’re probably going to make more progress here. It’s a good road.”

“I guess,” Bucky said. But he still didn’t sound happy.

“I don’t think we’ll get any flat tires on this road, you know? Not like that road in Virginia.”

There was a pause. Then Bucky said, “But that didn’t turn out so bad.”

A thrill went up Steve’s spine. In the three days since that rainy night in the back seat of the car, Steve had started to lose hope that it would ever happen again—he’d almost started to wonder if the memory was just a product of his own fevered imagination—but here was Bucky, bringing it up out of the blue.

Steve slowly turned his head to look at Bucky. He was looking straight ahead. Of course he was—he was driving, after all, but he was also strangely still. Maybe he regretted bringing it up.

“Yeah,” Steve said carefully. “Not bad at all.”

Bucky’s shoulders relaxed a fraction, and Steve felt like his body was on fire.

*****

“How about you get firewood while I wash the clothes?” Bucky offered.

“Okay.” Steve waited. “What’s the catch?”

Bucky laughed. “There’s no catch. You just hate doing laundry, and I don’t mind.”

“All right,” Steve said. But he still felt like there was something Bucky wasn’t saying, because whether it was gathering firewood or carrying the suitcases into a cheap hotel room, Bucky had continued to insist on managing the heavy lifting himself the vast majority of the time. But he seemed sincere this time. He was already taking off his shoes and socks when Steve headed out.

“Don’t drown while I’m gone,” Steve said, mostly because he hoped Bucky would smile.

Bucky rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile too. “It’s about two feet deep. I think I’ll be okay.”

It wasn’t hard finding fallen limbs and twigs for the fire. Maybe that was why Bucky had given Steve the job—he knew it would be easy. Still, by the time he’d finished gathering a generous pile of wood, Bucky’d already finished. Their clothes were spread out on the rocks next to the water, and he was thigh-deep in the stream—and stark naked—splashing water over his head and into his armpits, then standing straight as the water streamed off his body.

Steve was torn between grabbing his sketchbook and just letting himself stare. Bucky was wonderful to look at. His lean thighs, the curve of his ass, the valley of his spine. It wasn’t just Steve’s long-seated crush. From a totally objective point of view—an artist’s perspective—he was beautiful.

Bucky turned and saw Steve. “Come on in,” he called. “No sense washing the clothes if you’re going to be all dirty. Come on and clean up.”

Steve sat down on the grass and pulled off his shoes and socks—mostly to give himself something to do other than look at Bucky’s dick and the thatch of dark hair above it—then stretched out his leg and stuck his foot in the water. It was freezing cold. “Are you crazy?” he said. “You’ll catch your death.”

Bucky laughed. “Not that again.” Bucky leaned over to slice his hand through the river’s surface, throwing up a sheet of water in Steve’s direction. It fell far short. Steve knew that Bucky had better aim than that. He was just being playful, not really trying to splash him. It was almost like flirting, though Steve pushed the idea out of his head as soon as it occurred to him.

“Come on, Steve,” Bucky said. “It’s really not all that bad once you get used to it.” He crouched lower, then dove under the water. He emerged a few yards away, gasping. “You’re not really helping your case here,” Steve said. “You can hardly breathe it’s so cold.”

Steve was afraid to stand up. He was half hard after staring at Bucky for so long. He’d held Bucky’s dick in his hand. He knew what Bucky sounded like when he came. And after what Bucky’d said in the car, about that night not turning out so bad. . . .

Steve’s stomach rumbled, and it gave him an idea for another distraction. “Hey, Bucky? We should get the fire started, or we won’t have a hot dinner.”

“Okay,” Bucky said. “We’ll just stay in for a few minutes.”

It seemed Steve couldn’t say no. He unbuttoned his shirt, and Bucky grinned, clearly knowing he’d won. There Steve was again, going along with whatever Bucky wanted. He would probably say yes to Bucky no matter what he asked.

Bucky plunged under the water again, and Steve took the opportunity to tug his pants off. He left them on the grass and splashed into the shallow water. His feet grew numb almost instantly. Bucky surfaced, and Steve panicked, throwing himself in the water face first so that Bucky wouldn’t see his now-obvious erection. He came up with his teeth chattering, but at least the icy water took care of the problem.

“Isn’t that better?” Bucky said. “Feels good to be clean.”

Steve tried to nod, but he was shivering so much he wasn’t sure Bucky would be able to tell. Even after a few more splashes, Steve still wasn’t getting used to the water. It chilled him to the bone.

“Come on, pal,” Bucky said. “I think you’d better get out.” He clapped one hand on Steve’s shoulder, then strode through the water and up onto the bank. Steve followed, still shuddering from the cold, and let Bucky throw a blanket over his shoulders.

“I kind of screwed up,” Bucky said sheepishly once Steve was all wrapped up.

“What do you mean?”

“I washed everything. It’s all wet.”

“Everything?” Steve walked over to his suitcase, clutching the blanket closed. Dirt and grass stuck to his wet feet. The bag held only a couple of coiled ties, a lone sock, and the worn leather bag he kept his shaving kit in. “You washed everything?”

“Well yeah, it was all dirty.”

Steve looked over at Bucky, who already had on a pair of pants and was pulling on a thick pair of socks. Steve resolutely turned his gaze away from the play of muscles across Bucky’s back and said, “Then how come you have something to wear?”

“I meant all _your_ stuff was dirty.”

“Great,” Steve said. “That’s just great.”

“Here.” Bucky picked up the pants Steve had dropped by the water’s edge before plunging in. “These aren’t too bad, and let me see. . . .” He dug around in the trunk until he found the worn sweater he slept in on chilly nights. “I only wore this once.”

The sweater was too big for Steve, of course, but it made him stop shivering after a few minutes, mostly. And it smelled like Bucky’s aftershave.

“Come on, I’ll get the fire going,” Bucky said.

“I’ll help.”

“You already helped.” Bucky wrapped a dry blanket around Steve, pulling it over his chest. “Maybe getting in the river wasn’t such a good idea.”

“I’m fine.”

It didn’t take Bucky long to get the campfire going—he really was getting better at it. They’d only camped out a few times and were still working out the best way to do things. They didn’t have a real tent, but Steve had figured out that if they parked the car just right near a tree, they could catch one edge of a blanket in the tops of the car doors, then stretch it over a branch. It wouldn’t keep them dry in a downpour, but it meant that they didn’t have to crowd into the car for every drizzling rain shower. As Bucky worked on setting up the improvised tent, he kept returning to the fire to feed it bits of kindling.

“At least let me tend the fire,” Steve offered.

But Bucky shook his head. “You’d better stay wrapped up. You really caught a chill.”

He looked concerned enough that Steve didn’t argue. He was tired. And even if he’d pretty much stopped shivering, he’d probably feel cold again if he dropped the blanket to help out.

When Bucky was sure the fire was going strong, he trotted back to the car to fetch their crate of food. He rooted through their supplies. “Darn.”

“What’s wrong?” “I wanted to try baking potatoes in the coals,” Bucky said. “But that’ll take too long.”

“We can try that tomorrow night. Let’s just cut them up small and fry them. It’ll be quicker that way.”

“Okay, we can put them right in the pan with the ham. Should taste pretty good.”

Once he had some hot, filling food in his belly, Steve finally felt warm, even though the fire was starting to die down. He felt even better when Bucky set his own plate aside and moved close, wrapping one arm around Steve’s shoulders.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” Steve’s answer came out a little breathless.

“Not too cold anymore?”

Steve shook his head.

Bucky gave Steve’s shoulders a squeeze. Steve could tell this was a little different from Bucky’s usual kind of physical affection: throwing an arm around Steve when they were walking down the street or nudging his knee under the table. Bucky wasn’t joking around, or even smiling. Like maybe he was waiting for Steve to catch on and do something. It seemed like too much to hope for.

“You know, I thought it would be quiet out here, away from the city.” Bucky spoke in a dreamy kind of way. His thumb traced small circles on Steve’s shoulder. “But it’s not quiet all. What is that anyway—are those crickets?”

Steve focused on the droning buzz that hummed all around them. “I think maybe frogs.”

“Frogs? I thought frogs croaked. Or went _ribbit_.”

Steve smiled. “There are all kinds of frogs. I think they’re up in the trees.”

Bucky’s chin tilted up, but it was full dark now. There was no way to see anything beyond the light of the fire.

His hand had shifted so that his circling thumb was inching closer to the nape of Steve’s neck. Just the thought of Bucky’s hand on his skin made him shiver.

“You sure you’re okay?” Bucky asked. His arm tensed a little around Steve, giving him a gentle squeeze.

“I’m fine.”

Bucky’s body relaxed, leaning into Steve a little, and his thumb started circling again.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want—?” Steve broke off. He wasn’t even sure how to ask.

Bucky’s hand was still now, gripping Steve’s shoulder tightly. “What is it?”

“I just wondered if maybe . . .” Steve nudged Bucky’s ribs with his elbow. “If maybe you need a little help again.”

Bucky was still and silent.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Steve said quickly. He could feel a hot flush flooding his face. When Bucky still didn’t respond, he tried again. “Do you want to?”

“Do you?” Bucky said.

“I asked you first.”

“What are we, ten years old?” Bucky laughed as he said it, but Steve could hear the nervousness in it.

“Okay, fine, yes,” Steve said. “Yes, I want to.”

There was another long pause before Bucky said, in a very small voice, “Okay.” But he pulled his arm away and stood up, leaving Steve confused until he saw Bucky’s arm outstretched to give him a hand. He let Bucky pull him up and followed him into their makeshift tent.

*****

Bucky was close beside Steve when he woke up in the morning. At first, Steve kept his eyes closed, thinking that maybe Bucky would move away if he knew that Steve was awake. But there was something hard under Steve’s hip—a rock or a tree root. He shifted a bit, trying to move away from whatever was poking him so painfully. Bucky turned to look over his shoulder at Steve, then let his head thump back down onto his pillow.

Bucky rolled onto his back with a groan. It gave Steve a little thrill because it wasn’t all that different from the sounds he’d made the night before, with Steve’s hand down his pants. Steve knew he really shouldn’t have been thinking about this, not in the bright light of morning and with Bucky so close—his shoulder was almost brushing Steve’s nose. But it had been so _good_. When Steve had made his awkward offer, he hadn’t dared to hope that Bucky would reciprocate, but as soon as Steve had gotten Bucky’s fly open, Bucky’s fingers had fumbled their way into Steve’s pants too.

He’d seemed surprised that Steve had been hard already, before he’d even touched him, and then Steve had come so quickly. It had been a little embarrassing. Though Bucky hadn’t seemed bothered. Even when Steve leaned into him heavily, worn out, Bucky’d just wrapped his arm around his shoulders and held him steady while his hand worked inside Bucky’s pants.

Bucky’s voice startled Steve out of his daydream. “Do you think in the army you have to sleep on the ground all the time? Cause that would be pretty miserable.”

“I don’t know,” Steve said. “But they’d give you the right gear, wouldn’t they? That would make a difference.”

“Sleeping on the ground is still sleeping on the ground, whether it’s on an official issue bedroll or my mother’s old blankets.”

Steve racked his brain for something encouraging to say. It seemed like enlisting was never far from Bucky’s thoughts, but nothing Steve could say would change that. So rather than spouting platitudes, Steve shifted so that his forehead rested on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky didn’t pull away immediately, but after a few minutes he said, “Come on, I’m starving,” and sat up.

*****

_SEE ROCK CITY_ , it said on the barn roof. It was the fourth one they’d seen.

“Well, I guess we have to go and _see Rock City_ ,” Bucky drawled.

“But what is it?”

“I have no idea, but obviously it’s a big damn deal.”

It turned out to the pretty interesting, with a path that wound through rock gardens and strange little gnome statues tucked in among the trees and flowers. The path ended up at Lover’s Leap, a sheer dropoff with a waterfall dropping away. They leaned their elbows on the railing, their shoulders pressed together as they gazed out over the rolling hills. 

“Sign says you can see seven states from here,” Bucky said. “You think that’s really true?”

Steve shrugged. “I guess it doesn’t really matter. It’s a great view no matter what.”

There was a plaque over to one side. Steve caught enough of the text to realize that it explained the circumstances of a Civil War battle on the mountain, so he ignored it.

As they strolled back up the path, they saw a tired-looking family heading down to the overlook. 

“I don’t care about a waterfall,” said the son, a boy of about eight with skinned knees and sagging socks. He was probably tired from too much walking around, but his whining made Steve feel more than a little sorry for his parents. “I liked the waterfall at Ruby Falls better,” the boy said as they passed.

“How do you know?” his big sister asked. “You haven’t even seen this waterfall yet.”

Bucky grabbed Steve’s arm “Just a sec. I’m gonna ask them about Ruby Falls.”

Steve turned to watch Bucky jog down the path to the frazzled parents. The father smiled at Bucky and stopped to talk him while the mother and kids continued walking slowly. Ruby Falls was only a few miles away, so Bucky led the way back to the car.

“Afterward maybe we can find a hotel in Chattanooga.”

“Sure,” Steve said.

“We can get an early start tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Steve had stopped keeping track of the miles to New Orleans. He still didn’t think they’d have time to get there, but he didn’t really care about that, other than the idea of Bucky being disappointed.

“Take your jacket,” Bucky said as they parked the car. “That guy at Rock City said it was chilly in the caves.”

“Caves?”

“Yeah, it’s underground.”

The idea made Steve pause. He’d never been underground, other than in the subway back home. He didn’t _think_ he was claustrophobic, but he’d learned a long time ago that he couldn’t always control how his body reacted to things. It was a mild worry, easy to push out of his mind as he grabbed his jacket and trotted to catch up with Bucky.

He shouldn’t have worried. It was too interesting down there to be anything but fascinated. There were underground pools—beautiful even if they smelled a little like rotten eggs—and strange rock formations. One looked like a hanging curtain, folded just like fabric. The frazzled father had been right though—it was cold down there, and Steve shivered despite having his jacket zipped up all the way.

“Here.”

Steve turned away from the curtain-like stalactite and saw Bucky standing there in his shirtsleeves, holding his own coat out to Steve.

“I’m not taking your jacket.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Bucky—”

“Just shut up, okay?” Not waiting for Steve to take the coat, Bucky simply draped it over Steve’s shoulders, then walked away so that Steve couldn’t give it back. Even through the fabric of his shirt and his own jacket, Steve could feel that it was still warm from Bucky’s body. It probably wasn’t worth arguing about. Steve slid his arms into the sleeves and buttoned up.

“I forgot that it’s Saturday,” Bucky said, squinting unhappily at the crowd in front of them. “It’s so crowded.” He kept lagging behind the tour group. Once they were deep underground, he grabbed Steve’s wrist and pulled him into a natural alcove in the cave wall, holding him back.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked.

“Shhh.” Bucky leaned close and whispered, “Anyone ever tell you you’re lousy at being sneaky?”

Steve tried not to squirm at the feeling of Bucky’s breath in his ear. “We’re supposed to stay with the tour.” But he didn’t try to pull away from Bucky’s hand, which was still wrapped around his arm. They waited until the sounds of the group faded.

“That’s better,” Bucky said. “I’d rather it just be us.” He smiled down at Steve, then suddenly seemed to realize that he was still holding Steve’s wrist—almost holding his hand—and let go.

When they got to the impossibly tall chamber with the waterfall, Steve was glad that Bucky had held him back from the group. With the noise and the crowd, it wouldn’t have been half as nice. As it was, the only sound was the water splashing into the pool, and Bucky stood close beside Steve, so close their arms were pressed together.

Looking up at the cascading water, Steve said, “It feels a little like being in church.”

“What do you mean?” Bucky gave Steve’s arm a gentle nudge with his elbow. “You gonna start praying?”

“No, it just feels like we should be quiet.”

Bucky laughed softly. “Well, yeah, we’re being sneaky, remember?”

They stood there so long that they heard echoing voices getting closer, so they slipped away before the next group could catch up to them.

*****

Steve had their bags out of the car and waiting on the sidewalk by the time Bucky came back from checking in. He was wearing a strange expression.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” Bucky said. But he didn’t look at Steve when he bent over to pick up the suitcases, and he took off at a brisk pace, making Steve trot to keep up. “The rooms only have one bed. But that’s okay—we can share, right? I figured it would be kind of silly to get two rooms.”

“Yeah, of course.” Maybe Bucky was worried about spending too much because the money was running out. That would explain the odd look on his face. Steve still had no idea how much he’d had in his savings before they started the trip. And sharing didn’t bother Steve, except . . . well, he would just have to make sure to sleep with his back turned. It wasn’t really all that different from the close quarters in their makeshift tent, really. They were crammed in tight every night they camped, so why did the idea of sharing a bed seem so much more intimate?

They’d gotten into the habit of Steve showering first, so he didn’t even ask before heading for the bathroom. He was quick, then called out to Bucky. “I’m out of the shower. I’ll shave real quick, then the bathroom’s all yours.”

“Mind if I go ahead and get started? It’s so hot. I don’t even want to sit on the bed cause I’m all sweaty.”

“Sure.” Steve didn’t mind at all, but he should have thought about how small the bathroom was. Having Bucky strip off his clothes while standing _right there_ was more than a little distracting.

Steve fixed his eyes on the mirror over the sink. It was fogged up from his shower, so he swiped one hand across it so that he could see his reflection. Out of the corner of his eye, he could still see Bucky as he stepped into the tub. Even with the shower curtain closed, Steve could see Bucky’s silhouette as he lifted his arms to wash his hair, then tilted his head back under the showerhead to rinse out the suds.

Steve jumped when Bucky yanked the shower curtain aside and stuck his head out. He didn’t want Bucky to see the way his dick was poking at the front of his pajama pants, just from watching him take a shower. They’d only fooled around on nights when they were camping, as if it was only permissible far from civilization.

“Hand me a washcloth, will you?”

Steve grabbed one off the rack and stretched his arm out, careful not to turn his body in Bucky’s direction.

“I can’t reach,” Bucky said. “I don’t want to drip all over the floor.”

Turning, Steve stepped closer, and he watched as Bucky’s eyes dipped down to his crotch and back up to his face again. With his face flaming, Steve scurried back to the sink and picked up his razor. 

“Steve?”

After only a moment’s hesitation, Steve looked over at Bucky. He now had the shower curtain pushed even further to the side, and he was standing where Steve could see every inch of him. He was hard too—more so than Steve.

Steve tore his gaze away from where Bucky’s dick was curving up toward his belly. Flustered, Steve managed to stammer, “You need a hand?”

Bucky nodded. Steve yanked at the drawstring of his pajama pants but froze for a moment, feeling self-conscious with Bucky’s eyes on him. But another look at Bucky standing there—his hair was slicked back by the water and dripping down his neck and chest—put paid to Steve’s hesitation. He left his pajamas on the floor, climbed into the tub, and slid the shower curtain closed. Bucky stepped back to make room, but he seemed to be avoiding Steve’s gaze.

“Can I . . . ?” Steve took the washcloth from Bucky’s hands.

Bucky looked at him then, and his eyebrows shot up, but he nodded.

After working up a lot of lather, Steve set the soap on the edge of the tub and reached out to slide the washcloth over Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky was still staring. Steve could feel it, but he kept his head ducked down, watching what his hands were doing. He rubbed down Bucky’s arms and over his chest. Bucky let out a sigh, and Steve finally looked up. Bucky’s eyes were closed.

“Turn around,” Steve said. His voice came out gruff.

Bucky’s eyes sprang open, but he obeyed. He bowed his head and leaned into Steve’s hands scrubbing at his back. Steve built up his courage before crouching to glide the washcloth and down his left leg. Even though Steve was quick as he moved over Bucky’s ass, Bucky made a little choked off sound, and Steve’s dick twitched. He pressed the heel of his hand against it and tried to focus on Bucky.

When the left leg was done, Steve scrubbed up Bucky’s right leg from the ankle. He took a deep breath. “Turn around again.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Bucky turned.

Before this—in the shadowy back seat of the car or under layers of blankets piled on the ground—it had been almost impossible for Steve to see anything. Now, Steve could see _everything_. The water ran off Bucky’s head, over his shoulders and down his chest. Steve was still crouched low, his face right next to Bucky’s crotch, so he was close enough to see a bead of moisture form at the tip of Bucky’s dick.

Steve swallowed hard and glanced up. Bucky’s eyes were closed, and he was biting his lip. Steve put one hand on the wall to steady himself, then reached out with the other and wrapped his fingers around Bucky’s dick. Bucky groaned. Then Steve gave into temptation and licked the bead of moisture away.

Bucky gasped. Steve’s head snapped up, but Bucky didn’t look mad. His eyes were still closed, and his mouth hung open. It looked like he was trying hard not to come. A hot bloom of elation and relief and lust spread in Steve’s chest, and he bent his head to wrap his lips around Bucky’s dick.

Bucky groaned. The sound echoed off the tiles, making Steve wince a little, but he wouldn’t stop for anything. He curled his fingers around the shaft, careful not to grip too tightly.

“Christ, that’s good.” Bucky’s hand came to rest gently on top of Steve’s head. “Jesus, Steve, I—”

Bucky broke off when Steve experimented with gliding his tongue around the head, and his fingers fisted in Steve’s hair. He immediately let go. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Steve ignored the words and moved his tongue in the same way, teasing the ridge again. Bucky’s dick jumped a little, so Steve tightened his mouth and sucked.

“Wait,” Bucky panted. “Steve, wait, I’m gonna—”

Steve sucked harder, gliding his tongue over the spot that had made Bucky groan, and Bucky’s dick jerked again. Then he was coming with a long low moan, filling Steve’s mouth until he had to back off and let it dribble out, but he came back for more, taking as much of Bucky’s dick into his mouth as he could and coaxing another flood out of him. Both of Bucky’s hands were tight in his hair now, but Steve loved it. With a twitch of his hips, Bucky let out one last gush, and then the tension went out of his body.

He untangled his fingers and smoothed Steve’s hair with a gentleness that made Steve’s stomach flop over. He bent down to grab Steve’s arm and pull him up to his feet.

Bucky had a wild look in his eyes. It made Steve a little nervous, but he let Bucky shove him back against the tile wall. He braced his forearm across Steve’s chest, then fell to his knees.

“You don’t have to,” Steve whispered.

“It’s okay.” Bucky’s eyes were closed, fanning his dark lashes over his cheekbones, which were slightly pink from the sun. “Fair’s fair.”

The sight of Bucky bending close, his mouth opening almost eagerly, made Steve shake, and he closed his eyes so it wouldn’t be over too quick. 

Bucky’s mouth was warm and wet. He sucked hard, working his tongue on the underside of Steve’s dick. His hand came up and cupped Steve’s balls, massaging gently, and there was no more hope for making it last. Steve came hard, the taste of Bucky still thick and bitter in the back of his throat.

“Bucky. Oh.” Steve couldn’t catch his breath. His hands hovered over Bucky’s head before settling on his shoulders. “Oh, God.” Steve’s legs were trembling. He probably would have collapsed into the bottom of the tub if it weren’t for Bucky’s arm across his chest, propping him up.

Bucky stood up. When he noticed Steve swaying, he wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close. His nose pressed into Steve’s hair. “You’re really good for nothing afterwards. Do you know that?”

“Sorry,” Steve said. “Yeah, sorry.”

But Bucky just laughed a little and gave him a squeeze. It was practically a hug.

Bucky nudged Steve under the shower spray to rinse off. He draped a towel over his shoulders, then half-carried him to the bed and threw him in—still naked. Bucky climbed in after him and pressed up close. It was like heaven, with Bucky’s bare skin all along his back and legs. It was almost like . . . but Steve knew he shouldn’t start hoping for anything like that.

*****

The engine made an alarming noise when they pulled out onto the road. Bucky immediately turned around and went back to the parking lot of the diner where they’d had breakfast.

“What do you think that was?”

Bucky didn’t answer. He just shook his head.

The waitress’s cousin was the town mechanic, and she gave them directions to his shop. Bucky made Steve wait in an empty booth—Steve took one look at Bucky’s expression and knew better than to argue—and walked over to the garage alone.

It didn’t take long before Bucky returned. The mechanic had given him a ride back in his truck. Steve watched through the window as they opened the hood of the Pontiac and leaned over the engine, then went over the rest of the car too. They talked for a long time.

As Bucky turned away from the guy and approached the door of the diner, his expression said it all: the news wasn’t good. He fell into the seat across from Steve with a sigh. “Well, he can fix it.”

“That’s good, right?”

Bucky tilted his head to one side, considering. “Maybe. See, he doesn’t have the parts. He thinks it’ll take a few days before he can get ahold of them. Plus . . .”

“What is it, Buck?”

“It’ll use up the rest of our money.”

Bucky said _our_ , as if Steve had contributed. Part of Steve liked that Bucky was so generous, but another part of him hated leeching off of Bucky’s hard-earned savings.

“We wouldn’t even have enough left over to buy much gas,” Bucky continued. He was staring down at his hands. “Forget about food. Or a place to sleep.”

He seemed so disappointed that Steve couldn’t think of anything to say. He nudged Bucky’s knee with his own under the table, and Bucky looked up with a sad smile.

“He told me he’d buy the car from me. At first, I thought maybe he was just trying to scam us—talk like he’s doing us a favor and get a decent car he can fix up and resell, but he showed me everything that’s broken. It’s bad, all right. And he says the steering is probably ready to go too, and the rear axle isn’t looking too good.” He sighed. “I think he’s offering a fair price. It would probably give us enough for train tickets home.”

Steve thought about his answer carefully. He was mostly ready to go home, but did the end of the trip mean no more fooling around?

“We could stay here for a few days,” Bucky suggested, but his tone was defeated. “Try to earn a little cash doing odd jobs.”

“Even if we could, at this point we don’t have enough time or money to get all the way to New Orleans. Maybe we should just go home.”

Bucky grimaced. “I’m sorry. I really thought this would turn out better. One last hurrah.” He turned and glared out the window at the car. “I just wish we had more time. I’m not ready to go back. Back to Brooklyn, back to work. Back to—”

His expression sort of flickered into something Steve had never seen before. It made Steve suddenly realize that Bucky was genuinely scared. He was afraid of going home, afraid of heading back to reality and the looming war. Steve tried to think of something reassuring to say, but he couldn’t come up with anything. What was there to say? Anyone who wasn’t at least a little scared of enlisting at a time like this was either foolhardy or stupid.

“I don’t want to let you down,” Bucky said. 

“Hey, don’t worry about me. I had a great time.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but he smiled a little and seemed relieved. He shifted in his seat. Their legs were still pressed together under the table, and as Bucky slouched lower on the bench he trapped Steve’s knee between both of his and gave it a squeeze.

*****

The mechanic offered to add ten extra dollars to the price of the car if they left all of their gear. Steve could tell he was just being nice, but it was a relief not to have to worry about getting rid of it. He was also cheerful about driving them to the train station in Chattanooga.

Steve waited with their things—just two suitcases and a duffel bag now, making him feel adrift after living out of the packed car—while Bucky went to the ticket window with the last of their money.

He came back with a sour face and only one ticket in his hand. “We didn’t have quite enough.”

Steve jumped to his feet. “I’m not going home without you.”

Bucky laughed at him and cuffed his head. “Of course not, you idiot.”

Steve had been ready for a fight and felt unbalanced when Bucky didn’t give it to him.

“I’m going to the other window, to get a regular ticket for me,” Bucky explained. “Then, instead of sitting up all night, I’ll just sneak in and share with you.”

“Why didn’t you just buy the ticket at the first window?”

“I thought they might get suspicious,” Bucky said.

When they parted in the train, Steve caught Bucky’s arm. “What if we get caught? Won’t they throw us off?”

“We won’t get caught,” Bucky said.

“This is really stupid. You take the berth, and I’ll sit up all night.” Steve tried to shove his ticket into Bucky’s hand. “Come on, take it.”

“No, Steve, quit it. It’ll be fine.”

“Bucky—”

Bucky grabbed Steve’s shoulders, forcing him to look right at him. “Do you trust me?”

Steve sighed. Of course he trusted Bucky, but this was a foolish risk to take. The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitched up in a grin—he knew Steve’s resolve was weakening.

Steve shook his head. “Why can’t I say no to you?”

Bucky’s smile grew wider.

*****

Steve got himself ready for bed, smiling politely at other passengers in the sleeping car as he made his way down the aisle to brush his teeth. Most of the curtains were already shut, as if people were settling in for sleep nice and early. That was good. He wished his berth was on the bottom. And maybe closer to the end of the car. It seemed like Bucky was more likely to get caught having to make his way halfway down the car and then climb into the upper berth, but there was no help for it.

After he climbed into his bed, Steve let the sleeve of Bucky’s plaid shirt dangle down past the curtain just slightly, the agreed-upon signal to help Bucky quickly find the right berth before a conductor walked through. He lay back on the thin pillow. A huge rolling snore came from the bunk underneath. It was noisy enough that Steve relaxed, just a little. The guy was pretty soundly asleep already, and he was making enough noise to cover Bucky’s quiet footsteps.

Over an hour passed before Bucky crept in. His face appeared without warning around the curtain, and then he was climbing in on top of Steve, accidentally knocking their heads together like coconuts. Steve rubbed his forehead.

Bucky leaned close to whisper in his ear. “Sorry. You okay?”

Steve nodded, then moved over as far as he could to make room. “Did anyone see you?”

Bucky breath ghosted over Steve’s ear and neck again. “I don’t think so. There’s just one problem.”

“What?” “I’m not tired.”

The words sent a thrill up Steve’s spine, but Bucky couldn’t mean he wanted to fool around, could he? Not with just a curtain between them and a whole sleeping car full of other passengers.

“Let’s look out the window,” Bucky said.

Both disappointed and relieved, Steve wriggled around in the tight space until he was facing the window and pulled the curtain open. The train was far from any towns now, so there wasn’t much to see: just a few lights in the distance.

Steve craned his neck to look back and saw Bucky propped up behind him on one elbow. He smiled down at Steve, then leaned closer and rested his chin on Steve’s shoulder. Maybe he _did_ want to fool around. Was he crazy?

Steve wanted to too. The mere thought was already making him get hard, but after the time in the shower, Steve was greedy. He wanted more—more time, more space, more privacy. The idea of a quick, secretive grope made him a little sad.

Bucky tilted his head to whisper in Steve’s ear. His breath felt warm, but it made Steve shiver. “You really okay with going home?”

Steve nodded, unable to catch enough breath to answer, with Bucky so close.

“Steve—”

He cut off abruptly, and Steve tensed, knowing something wasn’t right.

“Do you know why I wanted to go to New Orleans so much?”

Steve hadn’t been expecting that. “No, why?”

His hand settled on Steve’s side, his thumb stroking up and down Steve’s ribs.

“Cause the guy at work told me about a club there. It’s for men only. It’s . . . private, you know? I thought—” He pressed his forehead against Steve’s shoulder.

Steve suddenly wondered how well Bucky knew this guy at work he kept talking so much about but tried to push the thought out of his mind. “I’m pretty sure there are places like that in Brooklyn too, Buck.”

“Sure, but I’m too chicken to go them. I admit it—I’m a big old chicken. No one knows us in New Orleans.” His hand slid down and settled on Steve’s hipbone. “I thought I could teach you how to dance. It was stupid.”

“Dancing?” Steve was fighting back a creeping feeling of hope.

Bucky didn’t say anything. He was slinking down low, maybe hiding. He pressed his face between Steve’s shoulder blades.

“Bucky?”

Bucky’s voice came out muffled from where it was pressed against Steve’s pajama shirt. “Yeah?”

“What is this?” Steve whispered. “What are we doing?”

Bucky didn’t answer.

Steve squirmed around until he was facing Bucky again. He wouldn’t meet Steve’s eyes. Steve scooted closer—he didn’t want anyone to overhear.

“We’ll be home soon. Is this just—you know . . . I mean, it all seems like some kind of crazy dream, the trip, and . . .” Steve reached out and placed a tentative hand on Bucky’s chest, then pulled it away again. “Whatever this is. What do we do when we get home? Is that it? Or will we keep going like this?”

There was a long pause before Bucky answered. Steve started to get nervous.

Finally Bucky said, “No, not like this.”

It hit Steve like a punch to the gut. He’d tried so hard to convince himself it was just for the trip. A whim. A vacation impulse that Bucky would enjoy and maybe not regret. Maybe he wouldn’t even think about it once they were home. Steve had tried so hard to remember that it was just a couple of buddies, helping each other out. But somewhere underneath all that, he’d grown hopeful that this could be something real and lasting.

“I—” It came out too loud, and Bucky broke off, startled. Steve was grateful all over again for the loud snoring that rumbled up from the berth below them. Bucky continued more quietly: “I don’t like it.”

Steve turned his face away. His cheeks burned with humiliation. It had been stupid to bring it up now, when they were crammed in so close. Well, he would sit up all night in the dining car if he had to.

Bucky grabbed Steve’s arm, and he shoved up close to whisper in his ear again. “I don’t like the way you’re always asking me if you can do stuff. Like you’re afraid I’m going to slug you or something. I thought you knew me better than that. And after all this time, this whole trip—” Bucky broke off again. His hand trailed up Steve’s arm and neck before coming to rest along his jaw. “You don’t have to ask, Steve. I can’t say no to you either, you know. The answer is yes. It’s always going to be yes.”

Bucky kissed him then, slow and sweet. His lips were warm and soft, and after a moment they parted. Bucky’s tongue darted out swipe across Steve’s mouth. When he finally lifted his head, Steve was breathless, but he took Bucky’s head in both hands and sealed their mouths together again. His hips pushed up tight against Bucky’s, and Bucky let out a quiet groan before gently pushing Steve away.

“Hey, quit it,” he said. His hand settled on Steve’s hip. “We can’t. Not with all these people around.”

Bucky was right. Steve had been thinking the exact same thing a few minutes before. But that didn’t make it any easier to move away, to keep his hands off Bucky’s body. Bucky’s thumb nudged up under Steve’s pajama shirt and stroked a little at the skin over Steve’s ribs, like he couldn’t quite keep his hands off Steve either.

“Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been thinking. . . .”

“Thinking what?”

“Thinking that I might not want to enlist right away.”

The comment seemed to come from out of the blue. Was Bucky just trying to distract him?

“It’s not that I don’t want to go. I don’t want you to think that. I don’t want to let you down. I’m gonna do the right thing. It’s just . . . not _now_.”

Bucky’s hand brushed Steve’s cheek, then wrapped around the back of his neck, his fingers warm against Steve’s skin. And suddenly Steve understood—Bucky didn’t want to leave because of _him_ , because of this new thing between them.

“Not just yet,” Bucky said. His lips brushed Steve’s ear. “Is that okay?”

“Yes,” Steve said immediately. “ _Yes_.”

The End


End file.
